Reiterating Ignorance
by MerylJane
Summary: Emily's mum's intolerance is hurting her. Naomi is angry; she can handle Jenna Fitch. Naomily.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I felt like writing something that was "Naomily." But I really wasn't too sure how and I'm in America and have basically no way of watching any of series 3 to really analyze their relationship. It is my hope that you, as a reader, can try to look past my errors or ooc-ness. It is not intentional, I swear. I do, however, remember enjoying (and hating) the tension with Emily and her parents. Anyway, I've written some more of this silly little story and would love to post it if _anyone_ would enjoy reading it. Even a little bit. Please review and let me know!

Oh, and this is in Naomi's point of view, at least for the time being.

Disclaimer: I do not own Skins. I wish I owned Skins.

Reiterating Ignorance

I woke to a sudden flood of light in my room. I had been dreaming strange, clouded, unhappy things about Emily, and so I was initially relieved when I recognised her figure at my door. However, my relief quickly turned to concern when I made out her broken expression. She wasn't crying or anything, but I feel like the expression she was wearing right then was much, much worse than crying.

As I became more aware of my surroundings saw the time on my clock – 1:53 a.m. – I gathered the sense to wonder what she could possibly be doing here. She was, most unfortunately for me, supposed to be at her house for the night. (She could only ask Panda to lie to her parents about staying over for so long.)

She saw me sit up in an attempt to see her better in the near-darkness and said in a strangely remote voice, "Oh, shit! Sorry . . . for waking you up."

Of course I didn't mind that. I was actually rather glad she was here. I didn't sleep very well when she was home instead of here with me, where I couldn't help but feel she _belonged._

"Em?" I ventured, my voice soft with sleep and worry. "Come over here."

She actually hesitated for a moment, which freaked me out a little. She looked really . . . weird. I couldn't figure it out, exactly. As she slowly walked closer to me, I discerned that she had, in fact, been crying. She had tear streaks on the sides of her face and faint traces of mascara under her eyes. I hoped that I had never done anything in the past had ever made her look this unhappy, though I knew that it was entirely possible that I had.

"Naomi," she whispered in the same voice that scared me.

_Defeated, _I thought_, that's what she looked like._

"What happened? What's wrong?" I questioned anxiously when she sat on the very edge of my bed, looking unusually fragile.

'It's . . . it's nothing," she told me quickly, but her voice broke slightly. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course, Em. But obviously, it's not 'nothing.'"

_What the hell was she talking about?_

"Yeah," she agreed. "Well, it just . . . doesn't matter. I don't care." It was a little cute that she was totally adopting my personality traits: pretending things didn't matter, faking apathy.

Well, it was cute until a tear escaped her eye and I caught it. Then I embraced her, pulling her close to me and placing one of my hands on the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair.

When we were both laying down facing each other and my arms were around her, I asked again seriously, "What happened, Emily?"

"I'm fine, Naomi. It's stupid. It was just my mum. She was being really - saying really . . . just saying stupid things."

I felt anger rage through me. I'm a generally angry person, I'll admit, but in that moment, it was possible that I was the angriest I had ever been about anything.

Because the one time I'd met Emily's mum, we hadn't exactly hit it off. And while it was perfectly fine that she hated me, I could not handle her hurting Emily. Especially over things she couldn't even control.

"What did she say to you?" I asked immediately, trying to maintain my calm, comforting manner but probably failing miserably.

"I shouldn't even care. It doesn't matter," she said dismissively.

But I disagreed.

"It matters a lot, Emily. What was she saying?" I pressed, my angry curiosity once again consuming me.

"It's just that she's my fucking mother, right?" she said with quiet bitterness as she began to cry again. "She's supposed to fucking give a shit about what I want. She's supposed to fucking _love_ me." Under other circumstances, I would have laughed at her excessive swearing.

Now, though, she was crying hysterically. I didn't know what I should do because I hadn't ever really _comforted_ someone before. Especially not a person who I really fucking wished would feel comfortable.

And I really didn't know what I_ could_ say. Because, truly, I was all for some good Jenna Fitch bashing.

Thankfully, I didn't have to say anything right then, because Emily spoke again. "Mostly, it was just that she was yelling at me about you. Saying really terrible things about you, like she knows you or something. And then she went on about how fucking heterosexual I really am, just like Katie, apparently. Like that's what she wants! Another Katie!" She looked sort of weary, like by telling me about these events she had somehow had to relive them. But, then again, it _was_two a.m. and I knew we'd woken up really early.

"I just couldn't stay in that house," she added. She seemed a bit angry, but mostly just hurt now.

_I _was still angry.

"Emily," I told her seriously, "I don't understand anything about what your mother thinks. And I cannot fathom how someone could possibly want you to be anyone but exactly who you are." I took a deep breath. "But, as wrong as your mum is, I know that she really does care about you." I had to choke out that last part almost painfully.

But truthfully.

I kissed her briefly because I hadn't gotten to kiss her all day because she'd been with her fucking family.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess tonight," she apologized needlessly.

"I love you," I said, just because I'd found that I'd really enjoyed saying that so much recently.

I kissed her hair and ran my hand gently over her face, getting rid of any stray tears.

And I knew what I had to do tomorrow.

AN: Sorry I write so American-ly. Please do review!!!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for reviewing the first chapter! This definitely isn't my best writing, but it could probably suck more. If I were to re-read it in a few hours, I'm sure I would edit it completely and it would be a totally different chapter, so it's probably for the best just to leave it. If you would care to review and, in doing so, make me happy, it would be an incredibly kind thing to do. I'm starting tenth grade tomorrow, and I need all the happiness I can get. Thanks!

...........................

I'm really not the type to give myself pep-talks. I'm more the type to just go for things.

So I guess the fact that my internal monologue all morning over and over went something like, _it's okay, Naomi. You can do this. Just do it for Emily. You can handle this Naomi,_ was indicative of the fact that this day was different than others in my life.

I had gotten up morning intentionally early, way before Emily. Actually, I hadn't so much gotten up early as not been able to sleep much all night. I mostly spent the night staring at Emily and trying to figure out what to say the next day. I'd also spent some time holding her tighter when she seemed restless, like she was having bad dreams.

Finally, when I could detect faint light streaming through my window, I gently untangled myself from her and wrote a note for her, explaining that I had some political rally to organize. In actuality, the rally was next week (Ironically, it was a rally for gay rights, which I'd cared about long before I had a girlfriend, or, you know, been attracted to a girl.) and I wasn't even sure if I was going now or if I was going to tell Ems what sort of rally it was because she might want to go with me or something and I wasn't even sure yet if I was a true fucking homosexual or not.

So, anyway, the note didn't mention the rally's subject. It just said that I loved her and would be back as soon a possible and urged her to stay there.

She and my mum were actually disturbingly friendly with each other and would be perfectly fine without me for a little while.

After I left my house, I went to get some coffee because I was really going to need some coffee for this endeavor.

And then, before I knew it, there I was. On the front porch of the lovely Fitch home.

The truth is that I was bloody terrified. Still, somehow, against all instinct, I found myself knocking on the door. I took a few deep, calming breaths before the front door swung open and I found myself face to face with . . . Emily's little brother?

He had been muttering something under his breath about a Gordon McPherson, but, when he saw me, I instantly had his interest. His expression was thoughtful as he stared at me.

"Um, hello," I said awkwardly. I don't know why I had been expecting Emily's mum to answer the door. I guess that was stupid. _Oh, fuck, _I thought, feeling like I shouldn't have come,_ is Katie here, too?_

"Is your mother home?" I inquired.

"Are you Naomi?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes?" I answered, wondering if that was the right answer.

"Wow," he said. "Cool. You're the girl Emily was 'making love' to a few months ago, when she came home and looked like she'd been fighting with a boy."

"Yeah, I guess I am," I told him uncomfortably. "Would you mind getting your mum?"

He nodded at me, smirking a bit. "Mum!" he called. "It's Emily's_ girlfriend_!"

And then he ran away.

I'm not even really the_ anxious _type either, but, in that moment, I felt like developing some sort of nervous tick, like biting my fingernails or something. Or clawing out my eyes, whichever was easiest.

My plans to claw were interrupted quickly, though. She had left her home with urgency to come and meet me on the porch.

It seemed to be her goal that her stare penetrate me somehow, like her eyes were lasers. I fought against my anger, which was threatening to take over.

"Hello, Mrs. Fitch." I did not smile or extend a hand, but I did try to keep the sneer off of my face as I gave her a nod of acknowledgement.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She looked at me like I was gum stuck to her most expensive shoes.

"I thought we could talk," I told her honestly, still fighting futilely against my fury.

"Where's my daughter?" she demanded, as if I had kidnapped her and had come by to collect ransom.

We were still outside and it seemed unlikely that she would be inviting me in. She had closed the door.

"Emily," I said, "is at my house eating breakfast with my mother. She arrived last night at nearly 2 a.m."

"Why would my daughter be at your house?" she asked, playing dumb, I guess. I ignored the question, as we both knew the answer.

"What did you _say_ to her last night?" I demanded, wanting this conversation to go somewhere.

"Nothing of your concern."

"You see, Mrs. Fitch, that's not true. If you are doing something that hurts Emily then it is entirely of my concern," I told her truthfully, wondering why I seemed to be reciting lines from some after-school special.

She looked at me with disdain. I know the look; I give it to plenty of people. "Naomi," she said forcefully, "it is not acceptable for you to corrupt _my_ beautiful daughter like this. Last night, I simply told her the truth. We have been over this before, Naomi, but it seems you need reiterating: my daughter is not _gay._" She released the word disgustedly. "Emily is weak, and she's eager for attention. You have been planting ideas in her head that are simply not true. Emily needs to know that it is not acceptable to wake up one morning and _decide_ to be gay."

I bet there are people who would pay money for a glance at the expression on my face at that moment: horror mixed with disgust and anger and then mixed with complete shock at the stupidity of the person in front of me.

There were so many things wrong with her little speech that I initially couldn't decide what to contradict first. So I started with what made me angriest. "Emily is _not_ weak. Not at all. And, with all due respect, ma'am," I spat, trying to smirk a bit, "if anyone's been _corrupting_ anyone, it's been her. Your daughter _is_ gay, Mrs. Fitch. I can't even begin to understand how you could delude yourself into thinking otherwise. She _always_ has been. She didn't _decide_ anything.

"What is true, though, is that Emily left your house last night more hurt than I have ever seen her. More hurt than I would ever even want to imagine her being. What is unacceptable, Mrs. Fitch, is your making her feel that way."

I paused, trying to make my unnaturally rapid breathing return to normal. Mrs. Fitch remained perfectly silent, so I continued.

"She isn't Katie," I said, "Thank God she isn't Katie! And she doesn't need to be changed or fixed. I can't imagine her more perfect than she is right now. And I hate that you can't see that.

"God, last night, she was so sure that you didn't even care about her at all. And you're her mother!"

"That's not true!" she protested vehemently, suddenly looking less confident with herself. Her eyes looked less like daggers, too.

"Look," I said, trying to be calm, "I know that you do care about Emily. But _she _doesn't know that. And she won't until you get over all of your ignorant crap and just accept her. You don't have to like me at all. I don't care about that." I took a much-needed deep breath. I was feeling more emotional than I was comfortable with. "But you do have to love her."

She kept looking at me, struggling to appear stoic. "Yes, well . . ." she said, not willing to seem fazed or to give in. But I could tell she was at least influenced by what I'd said to her. "I _do_ love my daughter, Naomi."

And then something entirely unexpected occurred: Emily's mum was crying. At first, just slow, solitary tears, but then she was sobbing. "I just want my children to be normal . . . and happy," she choked.

"Emily_ is_ happy," I said as kindly as I could manage. "At least, I think she is, most of the time. She isn't happy right now, though." I tried to deliver my accusing look as gently as possible.

"I suppose . . . maybe . . . I've made a bit of a mistake in the way I've been reacting." Tears were still running down her face, succeeding in communicating what she was too proud to speak out loud. She knew she'd been wrong.

Then she looked at me with something new in her eyes: fear. "So . . . Emily hates me, then?"

Very lightly, I shook my head. "I think that, when she's ready, you should let her talk to you."

And then I turned around and walked away.

Towards Emily.

AN: Maybe this is a bit unrealistic and out of character. But I'm striving for realism, not reality. Haha . . .

There definitely will be more, but I'm not sure how substantial it will be. Let me know if you have suggestions!


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So, it's been a while. I didn't completely forget about this story. Actually, I just wrote it and didn't type it. Or post it. Oops. I'm a bad person. And I also didn't actually like it very much and felt sort of silly and presumptuous and out of my element writing it. So, keep that in mind. Thanks.**

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As I opened my front door, I heard my mother's voice, coming from the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, love. She'll come 'round," she was saying maternally.

They were eating toast and drinking tea. Emily was wearing my clothes - including a colossal sweatshirt that said "Free for All' - which were incredibly loose on her. This was adorable. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat down next to her. I smiled at her lightly. "How are you?" I asked, tucking a strand of disheveled red hair (she'd obviously only just woken up) behind her ear and (in a way I hoped was subtle) caressing her cheek with my hand in the process.

She smiled in response, though not as brightly as I would have liked. "You girls are just so sweet," my mum said affectionately.

I stared at her, annoyed. "Haven't you got somewhere to be?" Emily laughed. And so, unwittingly, my sullen face vanished, as usual. That was annoying, the way that happened.

"Thanks for reminding me, sweetie," my mum chirped, though we both very well knew that I hadn't actually been aiming to be helpful. "I'll see you later, girls."

"Yeah. Bye," I said dismissively, hoping to hurry her along.

"Thank you for, um, breakfast, Gina. Really," Emily chimed pleasantly, trying, as usual, to balance out my dark rudeness. She did that rather nicely and I often thought it really was a wonder she kept _me_ around. Sometimes I can't think of a single reason that she would want to hang around me, much less be _in love_ with me. I didn't think it really made sense.

Once my mum finally left, we went to my room. We lay on top of my bed because, as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was really exhausted.

Considering I hadn't been able to sleep _at all_ the night before.

"So, how was the political rally?" She was trying to evade the topic of last night.

"I sort of have a confession to make," I said.

"Yeah?" she asked, a bit warily.

"I didn't have a political rally to go to this morning."

She looked confused. "Well, what did you do?"

I took a moment to consider whether she would be angry, or maybe hurt? Maybe she'd feel that I had stepped in where I had no business interfering. Had I crossed a boundary of some sort?

"_What_, Naomi?"She was beginning to look fearful.

"I sort of went ," I said in one uncommonly shallow breath.

"You . . . you _what_?!"

I had no idea if she was mad or just surprised. I figured I should apologize anyway. Just in case.

"I'm sorry," I said, and the words felt strange on my lips; I wasn't used to apologizing. Or feeling the need to apologize so frequently. "I was really . . . stupid. But I was just so angry and I shouldn't have, but I could fucking_ stand_ it. I just, I _had_ to go and figure out why the fuck someone would even dare to say that you – "

I wasn't able to continue my idiotic rambling because Emily was kissing me. Kissing me fiercely and intensely.

When she finally broke apart from me to get in a decent breath, she said, "You're just so fucking amazing, Naomi." She was smiling. Really smiling. I had made her smile.

In a moment, though, her smile fell slightly, and she looked at me seriously. Then she grabbed my right hand and examined it. She was smirking a bit.

I laughed mildly. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged. "Good. Your hand doesn't look bruised."

I stared at her questioningly.

"Just making sure you didn't punch her." She was laughing and so, against my better judgment, I laughed too, even though I had no right to find humor in the situation.

When we stopped laughing, though, I became serious again rather quickly. "Em, I think I _was_ about to punch her; I wanted to, but then she started crying."

Emily scoffed. "She did not. You're making that up."

"Emily, I wasn't expecting it either. But she completely freaked out. I think she actually feels really bad." I didn't sound quite as earnest as I had tried to.

"Naomi," Ems said, looking rather disconcerted, "my mother hasn't cried in my entire life. Not once. She's not a _crying_ sort of person." Well, I believed _that_. But I also knew that most people thought that _I _wasn't a crier.

"I think she really wants you to talk to her. When you feel like it."

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**AN: I know that not a whole lot actually happened in this chapter, but you can totally still review, right? I promise the next chapter will have substance. If I ever type it. Which I will.**


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